“You’ve got to be kidding!” I protested hotly. “How could this possibly be all about me?” I was sitting, planner flung open wide, across from my husband.
I was showing him how incredibly busy my life had become in the past few weeks — all the appointments for all the children. There were 20 dental visits in September alone (literally). There was enough driving to ballet and soccer to put 400 miles a week on the van. Then there were the mundane things like grocery shopping and gardening and house cleaning. And that little matter of home schooling them all. I was tired and cranky and I didn’t appreciate him telling me that it was “all about me.” I was doing it all for them. Nowhere on those neat grids was a mom’s night out, morning alone at the gym or even time to write. What in the world could he possibly mean? Wisely, he put the point aside and let me stew a bit.
Several weeks later, I was helping Christian with a writing assignment. He was to re-write First Corinthians 13, the chapter on love. Christian dictated, “If I can move mountains, but don’t have love, it is worth nothing … ” We went line by line through the entire chapter, explaining and re-wording. He had a great understanding of St. Paul’s admonitions. I checked the assignment off in my book.
That afternoon, as we climbed into the van to drive first to Patrick’s practice west of town and then to Michael’s practice east of town, stopping in the middle to deliver Mary Beth to ballet, I yelled, “Everybody just sit down, buckle up and be grateful we’re going. If we get out of here on time and where we need to be on time, it will be a miracle.” I’ll spare you the details of the lengthy lecture on the messiness of the van that followed. They all sat there, chastened and hushed while we drove. I slurped coffee and fumed inwardly. It was just another ordinary afternoon. We were all in the van and Mom was mad.
“If I drive all over Northern Virginia to deliver my children to wonderful opportunities, carefully chosen for their growth and development, but do it with a grudging attitude and a grumbling heart, I am but a screaming meanie.” I heard myself in that conversation with my husband: I have to drive to this. I have to plan that. I have to cook. I have to clean. I can barely keep my head above water. He was right; it was all about me. I thought I was serving them but I was so focused on my effort that I was at the center of all of it.
It was time for confession and then a simple prayer each and every day that everything I do, I could do with love. Every time I served, I wanted a servant’s heart — glad for the opportunity to act in charity towards the precious children I so dearly love. Mothers have so many, many chances to do for the least of our brothers. We have so many ways to love. But we miss them. We do our duty; we get the job done and we think we’re doing well. But we neglect to smile or to sing while we do it. We neglect to stoop down to the level of the child and to speak in a soft voice. We neglect to take the time in the car as the great gift it is and to strike up meaningful, loving conversation with the teenager. We get it done, but we don’t love while we’re doing it.
Life becomes a list of chores to check off instead of an opportunity for relationships to grow. Meals are fed to stop the growling in a child’s stomach instead of served to nourish both body and soul. We need to pause, to pray and to truly offer it to our Lord. Everything we do, all day, everyday, we can do with love, blessing it and bringing joy to it. It’s a matter of attitude and the invocation of the Holy Spirit.
It’s not all about me. And it never should be. It’s all about love. And that’s really all that matters, now and in eternity.
(Foss is a freelance writer from Northern Virginia.)
(This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
